


Pause

by saltstreets



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Episode Tag, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 00:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: He is underwater, that much is instantly obvious. He looks up and sees nothing, no surface or light or any indication that the depths do not simply go on forever in all directions.





	Pause

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a little missing scene of sorts for episode 51, then I entirely failed to post before episode 53 switched it up on me. I haven't written for an ongoing episodic canon in so long and I've forgotten what it's like to have to be quick off the mark before you can get jossed...so now I guess it's more of an alternate take on the dream scene? With Caleb instead of Caduceus. Sorry Cad! What the shipping heart wants.

 

 

When Caduceus comes out to relieve him of watch, Fjord practically dives back into the tiny hut. Simply because he is tired, of course. He definitely isn’t fleeing from the oppressive darkness that had settled around his shoulders as he’d stared out into the pitch black night, not quite accusing but not quite patient either.

Well, alright. Fjord has never been as good at lying to himself as he is at lying to other people. He’s fleeing a little bit.

It’s only unfortunate that he can’t really get too far away. He blinks in the dimness of their shelter, Caleb’s hooded light casting a soft glow over the assembled party. It’s a welcome change from the darkness outside that had seemed to press itself against his eyes.

The tiny hut is aptly named: there isn’t really enough space inside for all of them to properly stretch out. Over the past few nights Fjord has wound up next to Beau and is now well acquainted with her habit of kicking out occasionally in her sleep. Tonight he and Cad had claimed a spot at the edge of the little bubble to make it easier for them to switch in and out for the watch and only Nott is next to him, with Caleb on her other side. Nott is a pretty good neighbour. She doesn’t kick and doesn’t snore either, only snuffles sometimes in a way that Fjord actually finds rather endearing.

He can see Caduceus’s bedroll neatly packed back away, the space now vacated for Fjord to spread out his own bedding. He does so as quietly as he can and curls up under his blanket.

Nothing concrete had happened outside, only a certain creeping feeling, but still Fjord is hesitant to close his eyes, apprehensive of what dreams might come.

Apprehension loses to exhaustion. Fjord sleeps.

 

 

And finds himself in a familiar circumstance. He is underwater, that much is instantly obvious. He looks up and sees nothing, no surface or light or any indication that the depths do not simply go on forever in all directions. He moves his hand instinctively, the sharp motion slowed slightly by the drag of the water, and summons the falchion to his grasp.

The yellow eye in the hilt gleams at him greedily, illuminating the dark water with a glow that is golden but nothing like warm. And Fjord’s patron speaks.

**_REWARD._ **

The voice reverberates in Fjord’s skull like the groaning of the sea floor, cracks and caverns in dark places crushed under the weight of all the water in the world. It licks at the base of Fjord’s neck and pinches the vertebrae in his spine without mercy.

Fjord glances at the falchion. The sword stares back at him emotionlessly. “Yes,” says Fjord slowly, “and I thank you. I truly do. I know- I know I’m quite far from the sea at the moment. I will return once I’ve aided my companions. They will be essential in what’s to come, certainly.”

The dark water is suddenly split open by the blinding, cold yellow moon of Uk’otoa’s eye which opens before him like a maw. Fjord is caught in the piercing light of it, suspended before his patron in a way that he valiantly strives not to liken to a worm on a hook.

**_CONSEQUENCE._ **

The new word sends an instant icy shock quivering through his veins but Fjord doesn’t have the time to contemplate any further meaning beyond that instinctive fear, because with the brutal snap of the last syllable the falchion vanishes from his grasp. Fjord inhales sharply in surprise at the loss of his weapon- and water rushes into his lungs.

He had not considered how he was breathing here in watery suspension, had subconsciously assumed it to be a twist of dream logic or a gift from his patron but now whatever has been allowing him to exist beneath the surface is just _gone_.

He kicks desperately, propelling himself what he thinks is upwards but there is still no light and no indication of anything other than the relentless blue water which compresses him in an iron grip, and Fjord will drown, Fjord is drowning. Fjord drowns.

 

 

He wakes with a wrench, shooting bolt upright and gulping a ragged wheezing breath of air. He isn’t coughing up water this time but his lungs are burning and there is the taste of salt on his tongue which nearly makes him retch anyways.

He stares wildly at nothing for a moment before the images in front of him begin to make sense again. He registers the smooth sides of the tiny hut and the scattered supplies and miscellany by the foot of his bedding, all illuminated gently by the soft light drifting near the top of the dome. The blood thrumming in his ears subsides somewhat, and Fjord can hear once more the quiet sounds of his friends slumbering next to him. He gives the group a guilty once over, but either he hadn’t made as much noise as he had feared bursting out of the dream or everyone is still just dead tired from the day’s events and not liable to wake for anything less than an earthquake. Most likely the latter.

 _Consequence._ Well, that was clear enough. Although whether the subsequent demonstration had been a decree or a warning…he flicks his wrist, and the Summer’s Dance falchion materialises in his hand. Immediately Fjord sags in relief, feeling the comforting familiarity of the hilt, the curve of the grip beneath his fingers. A warning, then, and a reminder that his benefactor isn’t going to be patient forever.

Fjord wills his heart to stop frantically trying to bruise his ribcage from the inside and takes a deep breath, dismissing the falchion back to wherever it went when it wasn’t in his possession. He lets himself settle back- and freezes as he makes direct eye contact with Caleb.

Caleb is lying on his side facing Nott and by extension, Fjord. His arms are tightly crossed over his chest, pinning his blanket to himself and his eyes are open, wide pupils staring straight at Fjord.

There is a breathless moment before Fjord makes an apologetic face. _Sorry,_ he is about to say, _didn’t mean to wake you. Nothing wrong here._ He is about to urge Caleb to go back to sleep when he realises that though Caleb is staring right at him, he hasn’t moved or said anything. And furthermore, Caleb can’t really see in the dark. Even with the dim floating night light, Fjord is likely just a featureless mass on the other side of Nott.

Does Caleb sleep with his eyes open? He’d never noticed before. It’s a creepy thought, but Fjord wouldn’t really put it past him. Weird, but also definitely a Caleb thing to do.

He just about convinces himself and has turned over to avoid those unblinking eyes when Caleb speaks.

“Is everything alright?” Caleb’s voice is barely more than a harsh breath. Quiet and almost toneless. For half a second Fjord debates pretending he hadn’t even heard the words, but then he sighs and turns back to face Caleb over the top of Nott’s curled sleeping form.

“It’s fine- just a, a bad dream,” Fjord whispers. “Sorry for waking you.”

Caleb’s brow furrows, and from the way he’s slightly missing the trajectory of Fjord’s gaze Fjord can tell he can only just make out forms in the low lighting. “Just a regular nightmare? Or another one of your, ah, wet dreams?”

Fjord blushes, safe in the knowledge that Caleb can’t possibly discern his embarrassment at the unfortunate phrasing that he’s apparently going to be stuck with until he dies. “Um. The latter. But it’s fine. Just got a little jumpy, that’s all.”

“You summoned your sword,” Caleb says, matter of fact and still managing to convey all of his normal scepticism even _sotto voce._ “You were frightened.”

Fjord winces. “You saw that?”

“I felt a bit of a fizzle. That woke me up more than any sound you might have made.” Caleb is frowning at him in the dark. “Fjord, I trust you would let me -us- know if there was something going on? I mean, more than what we are currently strolling into.”

Between them, Nott mumbles something in her sleep and rolls over. They both freeze, falling silent until she settles again, and Caleb continues in an even lower voice that Fjord has to strain to hear.

“We have an understanding after all, do we not?. And even so I would be happy to help you if I can.”

Caleb might not be able to make out the details of Fjord’s face, but Fjord has no such trouble, and can see that the eyes peering at him are as earnest as the words themselves. The part of Fjord that is shamefully susceptible to everything _Caleb_ melts a little further into that earnestness. He almost wants to just tell Caleb the whole unpleasant tale complete with uncomfortable details, about the pressure he can feel in his eardrums and the horrifying feeling of being cut off from his magic deep in some hidden corner of the ocean. He could tell Caleb about how even the short time that he’s had it, that magic already feels an integral part of him and how he dreads the thought of losing it. Caleb would listen, would be genuinely interested, and would perhaps have some advice or insight that might help.

But Caleb is also one hundred percent behind Nott and her purpose here in Xhorhas, and Fjord doesn’t want Caleb to think that he’s trying to redirect the group efforts. Fjord thinks he might just about have managed to persuade Caleb that he isn’t actually trying to unleash a watery hell serpent upon the continent. While Caleb has definitely become more comfortable with placing trust in their little group, Fjord still worries that a sign of not being dedicated to helping out his fellows in turn might be enough to tip Caleb back over the edge of suspicion.

Caleb is still watching him. Fjord puts on a smile and shakes his head minutely. “That’s greatly appreciated. But I can manage it for now. I’ll be sure to come to you if things ever get…” He trails off, unsure how best to put it. Bad? Worse? Unbearable?

Luckily Caleb doesn’t need him to specify. “Alright. So long as you make sure that you do.” He hesitates. “You know, I meant what I said before we left Felderwin. I do like this group. I like you.”

Thank every god in the pantheon for humans and their terrible night vision. Fjord is fairly certain that his face has gone past plain flushed and straight into flaming, a traitorous delight tingling his toes even at that innocent statement. He may have toned down his open admiration of Caleb since the early days of their acquaintance, but that doesn’t mean his stupid heart doesn’t skip a stupid beat hearing Caleb say aloud that he _likes_ him. For fuck’s sake.

“Why thank you, Caleb. I like you as well,” Fjord says as sincerely as he can while still trying to keep a low measured tone, “you mean a lot to me. All of you.”

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” Beau’s voice, scratchy with sleep, pierces the relative quiet of the hut. “Not that I’m not over-fucking-joyed that you’re having this nice touchy feely sesh, but if you could have it in the morning. And preferably away from camp where I don’t have to hear your vomit-inducing confessions of being able to stand each other, thanks.”

Caleb goes red as a tomato but he rolls his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Beauregard.”

“ _You_ go back to sleep, Widogast.”

“Sorry,” whispers Fjord, and shrugs apologetically at Caleb.

Caleb huffs out a soft laugh. “She is right, though. Get some sleep. This might be the last night we all spend not entirely surrounded by strange people who want to kill us. Good night, Fjord.”

“Good night, Caleb.”

There are a few moments of shuffling and rustling as the hut settles back into relative silence. The hooded light bobs comfortingly at the bubble’s curved apex. A few feet away Jester murmurs something indistinct in her sleep and Fjord can hear the wind rustling the grasses outside. He slips back into sleep and this time, does not dream.

 

 


End file.
